


I'll Take You There

by dewdropkisses



Series: you call my name (and it feels like home) [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (He's 21+), (more to add) - Freeform, Aftercare, Age Difference, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Ass Play, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Comfort, Consensual Dubious Consent, Daddy Kink, Dd/lb, Dom/sub, Eddie is his feisty anxious little, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Older!Richie, Online Romance, Oral Sex, Richie is a gentle Daddy Dom, Subspace, Younger!Eddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25843048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dewdropkisses/pseuds/dewdropkisses
Summary: Richie and Eddie met online on a CG/L forum back in 2015.They've been chatting nonstop for about eight months when Richie invites Eddie down to his LA home for them to meet face-to-face and spend the weekend together.All the red flags are there but Eddie's too lonely to resist.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: you call my name (and it feels like home) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890763
Comments: 40
Kudos: 170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The age play WILL be sexual when we reach it. This is your last chance to leave.
> 
> _CG/L (DD/LB) is a dynamic within the BDSM community that stands for Caregiver/Little (Daddy Dom/Little Boy.) It is a relationship in which one party is a caregiver, often like a parental figure (most commonly called mommy or daddy), and the other is childlike._

The shuttle hisses as it settles into its platform and Eddie Kaspbrak is trying to stay calm as he follows the final stream of human traffic through the busy airport.

He heads towards arrivals, duffle bag heavy against his shoulder. He’s very excited to meet Richie for sure, but it’s difficult to ignore the creeping doubt that this is going to end up being one of the biggest mistakes of Eddie’s entire life.

The red flags are all there. He met Richie online. He’s been invited to spend the weekend, _alone_ with him at his apartment. No one in Eddie’s life knows he's there and, the biggest flag of all, Richie is twice Eddie’s age. And that doesn’t even get into all of the weird ass shit they’re planning to do together, have already done, albeit in the safety of Eddie’s bedroom, secure in the knowledge there was 3,000 miles between them.

No more miles once Eddie goes through this gate though. Just a dozen more feet and he’ll be meeting Richie Tozier face-to-face, in the flesh. No more Facetime. No more SMS. No more safety net.

Eddie realises he can't breathe and dips out of the crowd towards a waiting area, sits down.

What is he doing? He shouldn’t be here. He should be in Derry, not Los Angeles. He should be working on his thesis, not meeting the middle-aged pervert he sends nudes to on the regular and calls his Daddy.

Eddie closes his eyes.

That’s unfair. If Richie’s a pervert, then what does that make Eddie?

 _Mentally ill_ , supplies Eddie’s mind, his throat constricted. _You’re both sick. You’re a freak._

Patting his jacket for his phone, he wheezes.

I'm having a panic attack  
  


Richie’s caller ID fills the screen and he hangs up.

Can't talk sorry  
  


Three little dots dance.

That's okay Eds  
  
Can you tell me what you're panicking about?  
  
I don't know. I'm being stupid  
  
I don't think so  
  
Let me call?  
  
You don't have to speak, just listen

His fingers are numb against the keyboard.

Okay  
  


Richie’s face reappears and this time Eddie hits the green icon.

“Hey, spaghetti,” his voice is just as pleasing as it is every other time but Eddie is too anxious to be soothed by it.

He presses a hand over his mouth to try and muffle his gasps a little, shoulders hunched inwards. He feels like everyone is looking at him.

There’s a pause. “Oh, sweetheart,” he continues, soft with concern. “You’re really not doing good, huh?”

Eddie shakes his head even though Richie can’t see him, wants and fears his presence simultaneously.

“Oh, baby,” says Richie down the line. “Oh, sweetheart. You think you can make it out here so I can make it better?”

Eddie, again, shakes his head, continues to wheeze.

“Alright. That’s alright, baby, don’t worry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie can’t breathe. Richie shouldn’t be such an important person in his life but he is. Eddie shouldn’t want to be here but he does. But he doesn’t. It’s complicated.

“...You know, there was this lady with a pram sat next to me about five minutes ago.” 

Eddie tries to focus but is feeling a little light-headed.

“So, she sits next to me right, and I’m on my phone, not really paying attention because (and I don’t know if you know this but) I’m waiting on this gorgeous guy whose come all the way from Portland to come visit lil’ ol’ me, so I’ve got my eyes on the entrance, right? Because he’s more important.”

Eddie manages the flicker of a smile.

“Anyway. Chick. Pram. I’m checked out. But then something moves in it, right? And not like a movement you’d expect, you know? Not like how babies kind of weirdly loll about like oversized bobble heads. It wasn’t like that. It was weird. So I go to look inside and-” Richie cuts off with a little snicker. “Oh, Eds, you’re gonna love this.”

“What?” rasps Eddie.

“So I look inside, right? And there’s - I shit you fucking not - one of those sausage dog things sitting inside.” 

“Sausage dog _things_? I’m pretty sure they’re just called sausage dogs.”

“Things, sausages, dogs, whatever. The important part is that she had a _pram_ for her fucking _dog_ , Eddie. It was wearing a _dress._ I was sat here thinking about how it probably eats better in a week than I do in an entire month.”

“Probably,” agrees Eddie. “That’s on you though. Last I checked you buy your own groceries.”

Richie sighs but Eddie can hear he’s smiling. “Touche, man. Touche.”

Eddie then notices his lung capacity has improved tenfold without him even realising it. Richie’s good at that, he’s come to learn. At calming him down when he gets himself all wound up. 

He licks his lips. “I’m- I think I’m gonna come out now. Can we just- can we pretend like this didn’t happen?”

“Sure,” replies Richie, sounds like he’s making the extra effort to stay casual. “You want me to stay on the line?”

“No. No, it’s okay. I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay-dokay-hokay-cokay.”

Eddie giggles. “Bye, Richie.”

“See you very soon, Eddie, my love.”

Eddie feels silly for getting so worked up when he recontextualises this is _Richie_ they’re talking about.

Richie who wishes him a good morning every time he wakes up and a good night every time he goes to bed. Richie who sends Eddie dumb haikus when he’s slacking off work, does voices for all the different characters during story time, croons sweet nothings into Eddie’s ear whilst he’s touching himself, _whose Daddy’s good boy? Who does my little one belong to? Are you gonna come for me, sweetheart?_

He remembers a little too late his original plan to freshen up in the airport’s toilets, already through the last barrier. He makes an attempt at smoothing his hair anyway, heart thumping away at the back of his tongue.

Where is he? Eddie scans the sea of people. Looks for glasses, unruly hair, sideburns. He finds them just as Richie finds him. They both blink. Eddie breaks out into a grin and Richie does the same. There he is.

 _Daddy_ , Eddie thinks instinctively. He wonders if this is what coming home is supposed to feel like, just seeing his face bringing him such an overpowering comfort he can’t articulate.

Richie stands up and Eddie is shocked by just how tall he becomes, grip tightening on the strap of his bag.

Eddie knows Richie’s big from the images he’s received over the months, but it still hadn’t prepared him for just how much of him there’d be. 

He supposed he should have expected it, what with the sight of Richie’s thick fingers on calls when they fiddled with his glasses (or his cock) the way his broad shoulders filled out the elevator mirror he’d sometimes snap photos of himself in, the long legs that would stretch right to the end of his bed, huge feet poking out the sheets.

They come together and Eddie has to look up to greet him.

“Hi,” Richie speaks first, an awkward, steady warmness about him that immediately makes Eddie feel safe.

“Hi,” says Eddie. It comes out a lot shyer than he’d anticipated, but Richie doesn’t seem to mind, hands in his jacket pockets.

“Taxi for Mr. Kaspbrak?” he asks, good-natured.

Eddie smiles, his shoulders loosening. He plays along. “That’s me. You gonna take me to my hotel, driver?”

“If you want,” says Richie. “I thought maybe we could go for a bite to eat first. Talk a little.”

 _A bite to eat_. He’s such a boomer and Eddie adores him. “You better take me someplace nice,” he replies.

“Only the best,” says Richie. “Here, let me take that.”

It’s cloudy outside but it’s still so warm that Eddie is regretting wearing a sweater, even if it had been seasonably appropriate back in PDX. There’s a shirt underneath but he’s too self-conscious to strip down to it, his pits feeling slick from all the nervous sweating he’d been doing on and off since four A.M. He has no idea how Richie’s wearing a jacket.

The car waiting for them turns out to be a lot nicer than Eddie expected, jolting to a stop as Richie unlocks it with a _beep-beep._

“No way,” he gushes all at once. “You didn’t tell me you had a mustang, dude!”

“A what?” replies Richie, popping open the trunk. “Oh, the car. Yeah. I liked how it looked so I bought it.”

Eddie looks at Richie like he’s grown a second head. “You liked how it looked so you bought it? These things are, like, forty grand and you’re telling me you didn’t even know what it was when you bought it?”

Richie laughs a little sheepishly. “I’m not really a car guy, I guess.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to make of Richie’s reply other than he’s mildly embarrassed, so he drops it.

“You can take it for a spin later if you want,” Richie offers once they’re inside, slipping his key into the ignition and knocking down the sun visor.

“I can’t. Don’t have my driving licence yet, remember?” says Eddie, clicks his seatbelt into place. Richie’s informality has him feeling a lot calmer about everything. Like they do this all the time. Like they aren’t technically strangers.

“We can figure something out,” says Richie. “I know a parking lot.”

“That’d be so cool,” enthuses Eddie, trusts him, excited by the prospect of getting to be behind the wheel of a _Ford Mustang._

“Whatever you want, Eds.” Richie is smiling and it makes Eddie smile, too. One of his big hands moves to the back of Eddie’s headrest and he backs out the space.

*

When Richie had said ‘a bite to eat’ Eddie did not envision they’d be stopping at a place like this, had not been serious when he’d scolded to be taken somewhere nice. He’s never been more out of his depth than he is right now, with the tips of his shoes touching marble flooring, the glass table they’re sat at amply spaced from those around them, fancy light fittings hung above.

“Richie,” he whispers.

Richie pauses his perusing to lean forward. “Yeah?” he whispers back at the same frequency.

“This menu doesn’t have prices.”

“So?”

“Doesn’t that mean its, like, really expensive?”

“Don’t worry about it,” replies Richie with a surety. “It’s my treat.” 

Eddie hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Also, why are we whispering?”

Straightening, Eddie admits at a normal volume, “I don’t know.”

Richie’s crows feet deepen as he smiles. “You’re cute.”

Eddie has to press his lips together; he's so pleased, both by the compliment and the sensation of being looked after, returns to all the brunch options before him. 

There’s so much to choose from that Eddie isn’t sure where to start. Buttermilk biscuits and gravy, stuffed french toast, wholewheat banana pancakes, fried green tomato benedict, honey-glazed ham and cheese omelette, corned beef hash browns.

“What’re you getting?” Eddie looks to Richie for his input.

“The blueberry pancakes, I think,” says Richie. “With ice-cream. What about you?”

“Um. I’m not sure.”

“The waffles here are good,” suggests Richie and it charms Eddie that he's remembered they’re his favourite breakfast food.

Their waitress comes and goes, and once she’s gone Eddie tries to get a discreet look at the other clientele around them. He’s visibly the youngest there, unable to clock even a single other person under the age of thirty. Eddie’s noticeably dressed down, too, although it could be argued that so is Richie.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Richie catches his attention.

“Nothing,” lies Eddie.

Richie’s whole body tilts as he scrutinises him with a gentle kind of energy. In the end he seems to accept Eddie’s answer, or at the very least he senses it’s best not to call him out. “I’m really happy you’re here,” he says finally and Eddie can hear the implied, concerned ‘ _are you?’_

“Me, too,” Eddie can’t say soon enough. “It’s just- I’ve never been to a place like this before.”

“Like what?” pries Richie, looks about like he isn’t sure what Eddie means.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m being dumb.”

“No, you’re not. Tell me.”

Eddie readjusts his napkin. It’s made of cloth and Eddie isn’t sure why he wishes it was tissue instead.

“You know you can tell me anything, sweetheart.”

Eddie nods at his hands.

“We don’t have to stay here,” continues Richie. “We can leave. Go somewhere else. Back to mine. Or another cafe. Wherever you want. Whatever you want.” 

Eddie shakes his head. He doesn’t feel like himself. He doesn’t belong here.

“I just want you to be comfortable.” Richie is still going. “And you know… you know that I’d never be upset with you if you’ve changed your mind about this. About us. Now that you’ve met me. You’re allowed to have second thoughts-”

“No,” interrupts Eddie firmly, head jerking back up. “I’m not having second thoughts. I really like you, I just-”

His words cut off as their server re-appears, sets down Eddie’s orange juice, Richie’s coffee. They both give their thanks and Richie’s entire focus snaps back to Eddie the moment they’re alone again, fiddling his glasses back into place.

Eddie takes a breath. He’s never lied to Richie, but there’s certain things he’s omitted, much like he’s sure there are plenty of details Richie has omitted, too. The crux of their relationship is based in fantasy after all. They’re just dancing around that right now because they’re in public, refinding their footing.

“I’ve just never been outside Maine before,” he admits, only able to say the words in the first place because it’s Richie he’s saying them to. “And I don’t actually live in Portland. I just go to university there. You just assumed I did when we first started talking and I never corrected you. I actually live in a small town just outside it with my mom. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m in my fourth year now and I still don’t have any friends. I’m a loser, Rich, and I’m freaking out any second you’re gonna realise how much of a mistake you made inviting me out here.”

Richie doesn’t respond and the hubbub of the voices around them fills his silence. Eddie can only assume the worst. That he’s angry with Eddie for fooling him into thinking he’s someone he isn’t. Eddie teeters on the cusp of panic.

“You know,” says Richie steadily. “You know, I really can’t decide whether to be offended or flattered you seem to think I’m this, uh, cool guy or whatever, but since you missed the memo, I’ll let you in on a secret: I'm a massive loser, too. An irredeemably, humongous, cripplingly embarrassing loser.”

When Eddie peeks back up, he’s being looked at with such an affection it makes his knees go weak.

“I can tell you right now you have your shit a lot more together than I ever did at your age.”

“Richie…”

“Eddie, I mean it,” pleads Richie. “I’m forty-years-old and I collect NES cartridges.”

A smile wobbles over Eddie’s lips.

“I mean it! When I was your age I was… oh God, I was working nights at some shitty gas station and spending all my free time playing _World of Warcraft._ ”

Eddie snorts, wills away the prickle of tears.

Richie lights up at Eddie’s laugh. “There’s my pretty boy,” he says, low and careful, just for Eddie to hear.

Eddie goes hot and cold all over, his toes curling. He’s afraid to speak right away in case he starts crying but he can’t stop smiling. Under the table, he rests a foot atop one of Richie’s oversized sneakers. Richie nudges back gently. 

“I don’t want you thinking for even a second you’re not the one who’s so out of my league you’re in another solar system.”

Eddie sniffs, happy. “Now you’re over exaggerating.”

“No way. You’re hot stuff, hot stuff.” Richie flashes a wink. It’s not a very good one, his other eye squinting as he does so, but to Eddie it’s perfect.

“...And you’re not mad at me for lying?”

“I don’t see it like that,” says Richie. “We didn’t know each other like we do now. You didn’t owe me anything then and you still don’t now.”

“Okay.” Eddie has been successfully won over. He stops caring about the other patrons and focuses on enjoying Richie’s company.

The food arrives and Eddie is glad with his decision to get waffles because they look amazing, and end up tasting just as amazing, too. 

The topic stays light-hearted for the next hour or so. Richie asks Eddie what it was like taking his first ever flight, how his thesis is coming along, if Eddie’s going to watch the Batman v Superman movie when it comes out next month. It, of course, evolves into a twenty minute, heated discussion about the up-and-coming DC universe Warner Bros. have planned. They’re pretty harmonious in the agreement its dumb and absolutely a cash grab, but Richie, the film snob he pretends he isn’t, refuses to acknowledge Eddie’s point that dumb superhero movies can be fun, too, that not every Batman installment has to be _The Dark Knight._

“They could stop ripping off Marvel at the very least,” replies Richie, and Eddie sweeps a fond eye roll.

Richie asks for the cheque, slides it over to his side of the table before Eddie can take a peek. The waiter brings him the card reader and he pays.

“Ready to go?” Richie asks, sliding his card back into his wallet. 

Part of Eddie wants to reach out and snatch up the receipt, wants to see with his own eyes how much Richie has just spent on him, but he restrains. “Yeah. I just need to use the restroom.”

“Alright. I’m gonna head out for a smoke. Meet me by the car, okay?”

The bathroom turns out to be just as fancy as everything else about the place. Eddie struggles to find the paper towels or the hand drier before he realises that the decorative towel-basket isn’t just for show. He plucks one out, tosses it in the hamper filled with the other discarded hand towels when he’s done. His reflection looks a little more put-together than Eddie feels but he primps anyway, smoothing his hair and straightening his collar. He catches himself smiling as he thinks about Richie calling him his _pretty boy_ , that he was _cute_ , that he was _hot stuff._ It was pretty synonymous with all the usual things Richie would fill up his inbox with or whisper through the receiver into Eddie’s ear, but hearing it face-to-face gave it a whole new realness. A new charge.

He leaves the restroom and heads for the exit.

“Sir,” calls out a voice behind Eddie.

It’s one of the waiters. He’s holding out something for Eddie to take, which he does so instinctively without registering what it is.

“Your father forgot his phone,” the server explains.

“He’s not my dad,” replies Eddie like he has something to prove. “He’s my friend.”

The horrified expression Eddie gets in return is more than enough to have him instantly regretting the correction, realises it would have been better for all parties involved to have just gone along with it.

“Oh,” the man says stiffly, going red. “Your friend then. Sorry about that, sir.”

Eddie can only nod, blushing just as hard as he takes Richie’s phone and scurries for the door, towards said _friend_ who's waiting for him by the bonnet of his car, lit cigarette loose between his lips.

He’s so hot Eddie forgets his embarrassment, all rugged and broad and masculine, settled into himself in a way that only comes with age.

 _Daddy_ , Eddie’s mind supplies again, is immediately conflicted. Guilty conscious, he guesses, although Richie’s sunny greeting is more than enough to wash it away.

“Casa de Richie time?” he confirms, smoke rising up from his nostrils.

“Yeah.” Eddie offers out the cursed iPhone.

“Oh, shit,” says Richie, takes it. He slips it away into his back pocket. “Whoops. You’re a lifesaver, kiddo.”

“The guy thought you were my dad.”

Eddie isn’t sure why he was expecting something more negative, but Richie just throws his head back and barks a loud laugh. “Well, he’s not _totally_ wrong.”

Eddie quirks back a wicked smile of his own. “I guess…”

He’s made to feel better about the whole interaction just from Richie letting him know it’s something they’re allowed to joke about. 

He isn’t sure where this grave notion that the more unconventional part of their relationship was to be handled with complete seriousness had come from, but he’s happy to be relieved of it. Most likely it was only ever there because Eddie has never done this before, at least not in real life, and is looking to Richie to help guide him, anxious to be so far out of his comfort zone in every sense of the word.

Once they’re back in the car, Eddie reaches out boldly to take Richie’s hand. Richie raises a brow but then caresses the back, presses a kiss to Eddie’s fingers. Goosebumps fly up Eddie’s arms and he cannot wait for them to be alone.

Definitely feels like home.


	2. Chapter 2

Richie’s apartment is open-spaced and Eddie has no reference to even go about guessing how much the rent must be.

The lounge area is central. A huge, plush rug is rolled out in front of a plasma TV, a seven-seater box sofa around it, a glass coffee table. He can see directly into Richie’s kitchen, too, where there’s granite countertops, an island with stools and a little dining area. There’s a balcony, and as Eddie keeps looking, he finds a set of stairs going up to an exposed, railed landing.

“It’s very clean,” is the first, inoffensive thing Eddie can think to say.

Richie has his back to him, still locking up. “I have a housekeeper,” he replies.

Eddie swallows. Between the car and the apartment and the _housekeeper_ , it’s dawning on him that Richie is a lot wealthier than he’s made out.

He fiddles with the worn material of his jumper, worries over scuffing the polished floors. “Are they here?”

“I gave her the weekend off,” says Richie. He reaches out to tuck some hair behind Eddie’s ear and Eddie is suddenly hyper aware of the fact he’s isolated in a strange man’s home, thousands of miles away from his own.

Strangely, the realisation doesn’t bring on the dread Eddie is used to. Instead _Stranger Danger_ infomercials from his middle school years come to mind and he imagines Richie playing the part of the scheming groomer. It makes him laugh.

“What’s so funny?” demands Richie, automatically smiling, too.

“Nothing,” says Eddie. He slips his arms around Richie’s waist and presses a cheek to his burly chest. It’s a little awkward due to the duffle over Richie’s shoulder, but Eddie doesn’t care, wants to embrace and be embraced by the one person in his life that makes him feel good about himself.

“If you say so.” Richie’s smile is audible. His free hand pats a slow rhythm into the small of Eddie’s back.

Eddie looks up, chin flat against Richie’s chest. He watches Richie watch him. Eddie can see all the tiny sprouts of his facial hair from so close up, salt and peppered, the curve of his Adam’s apple, the smoky quartz of his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” asks Richie.

With a grin, Eddie uncurls to make himself more accessible. “You don’t have to ask.”

Richie’s eyes go all half-lidded behind his glasses. He leans down, Eddie bumps up, and they meet in the middle. Richie’s mouth is dry and warm, tastes like cigarettes. It’s a little chapped but Eddie finds he likes the texture as they slide against one another. Overall, it’s very, very satisfying and immediately beats all the other kisses Eddie has tolerated whilst exploring his sexuality.

It briefly deepens into something a little more open-mouthed before Richie’s ending it. “Come on,” he says. “Let me show you around.”

He’s hungry for more, but Eddie just nods obediently. “Okay.”

They walk more directly into the apartment. Richie doesn’t take off his shoes so neither does Eddie, as much as he wants to.

“Kitchen.” Richie points in it’s direction. “Living room.” Richie gestures around them. He takes Eddie’s hand and guides him to a backroom. It has a lot of bookshelves, a smaller couch, a desktop with two monitors. “Office,” explains Richie.

“You mean where you play video games,” teases Eddie, realising he still doesn’t know exactly what Richie does.

“Ouch. Don’t gotta call a guy out like that, Eds.”

Eddie laughs.

Richie grins and smacks a kiss to his forehead. “Now upstairs.”

As they ascend, Eddie comments, “I didn’t know apartments could have two floors.”

“Me neither ‘til I moved here,” replies Richie, up front.

They stop at Richie’s bedroom first. A king-sized bed takes up most of the space, sliding, mirrored wardrobe doors opposite. Eddie embarrasses himself by immediately imagining getting to watch Richie fuck him in them, doesn’t mention the thought as he’s tugged along to the en suite.

Eddie thinks this is where they’re going to be dropping off his bag, but then they’re leaving the room with the duffle still over Richie’s shoulder, and Eddie is taken to another one further down the hall.

The final door is opened and it’s another bedroom. Here Richie sets Eddie’s things down on its double bed. It’s clean and just as pleasant as all the other rooms, same nice view from the window, its own en suite, but Eddie doesn’t like it, is almost offended by its presence.

“What do you think?” asks Richie. He looks to Eddie and his face falls slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” Eddie trails off, feels like he’s being ungrateful.

When Richie simply remains silent, waits for him to put together his thoughts, he finally admits,

“I just wasn’t expecting to be sleeping in a guest room.”

Richie’s worry melts. “Me neither, Eds,” he reassures.

His hand slides onto the small of Eddie’s back and Eddie responds, moves closer so that he can rest against the older man’s bicep.

“I just wanted it to be an option,” continues Richie, now rubbing circles.

His thoughtfulness makes Eddie feel all comfy. He shifts to hug Richie more directly again, buries his nose away against his chest. He smells really good, like a man, and his arms feel secure and warm as they surround him, pull him closer.

“Thank-you, Daddy,” Eddie muffles against him.

He hears Richie’s breathing stutter momentarily before it returns to its easy rhythm. His paw hand begins petting the back of Eddie’s hair. “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says and the moment could not be more complete.

Eddie turns his head to the side, sighs in and out through his nose. He gathers up the courage and requests, “Can we play?”

The petting pauses, but then Eddie feels Richie nod, and his voice changes slightly, takes on that magical, wonderfully condescending tone Eddie has only ever heard over speakers as he replies, “Sure, baby, we can play.”

It’s enough to send goosebumps over Eddie’s skin. He squeezes tight, gets squeezed in return gently, so gently it makes Eddie feel like he’s something precious. 

“Just-” stammers Eddie, glad they’re not looking at one another. “You’ll tell me if it’s not good, right? I want it to be good for you, too. You know, cause I never- because this is the first…”

When Eddie doesn’t expand, Richie says, “Little ones don’t have to worry about things like that.”

“...but what if you don’t like it?” Eddie fumbles with the back of Richie’s shirt.

“What if _you_ don’t like it?” counters Richie.

Eddie’s head shoots up. “Of course I’ll like it, it’s you.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Richie grins. “because that’s how I feel, too.”

Oh, thinks Eddie, understands a little more, like he’s looking at a painting from a different angle.

“How about we start with you showing me what you brought with you?” says Richie.

“Okay,” he agrees shyly.

They sit on the edge of the bed with Eddie’s bag between them. Eddie grasps the zipper, drags it open. The head of his well-loved, favourite carebear pops into view. He carefully pulls the stuffie out, plays with his little tuft of hair.

“Grumpy bear,” he tells Richie lightly, giving his best effort towards littlespace but still very much feeling like a twenty-three year old student engaging in something he shouldn’t be.

Richie takes one of the bear’s limbs, gives it a gentle pawshake. “Nice to finally meet you, Grumpy Bear,” he tells the stuffed animal. “My Eddie has told me a lot about you.”

A bashful grin breaks out across Eddie’s face at Richie’s silliness. “He says-” he splutters, “he says it’s nice to meet you, too.”

“Mhm. He’s a good bear” Richie pats it's head.

“Yeah,” agrees Eddie, Richie effortlessly guiding him towards being small.

Richie pats Eddie’s head next. “And you’re a good boy.”

Eddie shifts at that, not knowing what to do with himself straight away. His stomach goes all warm and gooey.

“Who's a good boy?” prompts Richie.

Eddie fiddles with Grumpy Bear, smiles down at him as he fidgets.

“Who’s my good boy?” repeats Richie, warm and patient.

“...Me.” Eddie still feels a bit anxious as he plays along, but now he’s mostly giddy. It’s so much more intimate than he’d ever predicted to be doing this face-to-face, almost overwhelming, and they had yet to start really, had yet to re-discuss the scenes they’d planned over the phone.

“That’s right,” praises Richie. He tilts up Eddie’s chin to press a quick kiss to his lips and Eddie could just melt. “What else did you bring?”

Eddie sets Grumpy Bear on his lap, obedient as he delves back into his bag. “Colouring books,” he says as he removes them. “Crayons.”

“Of course.” Richie looks through them before he sets them aside. “Very important.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie smiles. He pulls out a neatly folded bundle of clothes, the ones he hides inside a slit he’s cut down his mattress at home. “Dungarees. Rompers. PJs.”

“Very cute,” says Richie. “Did you bring Daddy’s favourite?”

The momentum is going strong now, Eddie’s original apprehension fading fast. “Yes. Look, look, look.”

He finds the [bodysuit](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71l5AlNVTxL._AC_UX569_.jpg) he knows Richie is talking about. It’s the one with the clouds and the moons and the stars all over, polka dot sleeves, its buttons running all the way up its front. It’s different from the other two Eddie owns, their clasps only running across the crotch.

“Wow,” says Richie, matching Eddie’s energy. “So pretty. I can’t wait to see my baby wearing it.”

“I can wear it now.” Eddie bends over backwards to please.

Richie softens. He reaches out to tuck hair behind Eddie’s ear. “You want to?”

His open fondness, his attentiveness, it all makes Eddie feel good. “Yes. Wanna be little.”

“Alright, sweet thing.” Richie is accommodating, strokes the shell of Eddie’s ear with his thumb. “Be a good boy and tell me our safe words, then.”

“Green means it’s fun, yellow means slow down, red means stop.”

“That’s right,” confirms Richie. “What a clever boy you are.”

Eddie perks up. “I am,” he agrees, beginning to slip under.

“That’s right, you are,” echos back Richie, eyes crinkling.

They just smile at one another a moment. Eddie can’t believe he’s really here. He’s here and everything’s okay. He’s here and things like red flags and panic attacks and Richie being forty don’t matter anymore. It’s just Eddie and his Daddy and Eddie feels warm all over.

“Help,” Eddie demands, pushes the romper forward into Richie’s hands. 

Richie takes it. “Help, what?”

Eddie rolls his lips together, reiterates softer, “Help, please, Daddy.”

He’s examined by Richie five tantalisingly long seconds before the man softly tweaks his nose. “Of course I’ll help you, sweetheart. ‘Cause you’re much too little to be able to get dressed by yourself, huh?”

Eddie nods jerkily and hugs his stuffie close, presses his nose against his fur.

“What a little cutie,” coos Richie at the action, thumb swiping Eddie’s cheek. “My little cutie patootie, huh?” He gathers up Eddie’s face. “Cute, cute, cute.”

Eddie giggles. His face is crowded by Richie’s hands and Eddie has never experienced someone look at him with such an open adoration. It feels so good that his head is going a little foggy. “Kisses, Daddy?” he hears himself ask.

Richie complies. His stubble runs rough against Eddie’s mouth once more and he lets his head tilt in whichever direction Richie likes best, takes hold of the front of his t-shirt, the slide of their mouths hot and slick.

When he straightens up, Eddie is nowhere near satisfied, keens. “Daddy, want more. Wanna taste.”

Richie hushes him. “Soon you can have as many as you want, sugarplum. We gotta get you dressed first, don’t we?”

“Now. Want now. Now, Daddy, now.”

“Not yet. Be patient like a good boy,” repeats Richie, firmer.

Eddie pouts but does as he’s told, goes silent.

“There’s a good boy.” Richie gets everything out the way and stands up. “Now, put your arms up for me.”

Eddie does so in a flash. He’s unable to hide his enthusiasm even if he’d wanted to. He’s found that littlespace makes him extra vulnerable like this, that it crumbles all the apathetic walls Eddie keeps up during his day-to-day existence back in Maine. He craves this bubble Richie has promised for him. Being little means to be trusting and unguarded and unafraid to ask for the things he wants, _needs._ It means to be safe.

He’s talked through having his sweater pulled off, his shirt unbuttoned, so far gone already that his mind is no longer on the sweat staining them, on whether his body is what Richie had imagined, if he’s behaving like a _proper submissive._ He just… exists, floaty and tunnel-visioned on everything that is Richie Tozier.

“Aren’t you just a dishy little thing?” Richie’s hand is on Eddie’s face again and he chases it’s caress. “Beautiful. Daddy’s so lucky. Get on your back for me.”

Eddie lays out flat and Richie slides between his legs. The atmosphere feels trapped in a vacuum as Richie’s big hands take hold of Eddie’s fly.

“Colour?” asks Richie, Eddie feeling sheltered under the watchfulness of his dark eyes.

“Guh-reen,” comes out of him, blinking heavy, tongue-tied from all the positive attention.

The pants are eased off and Richie descends to his knees before him. He lifts a leg, silky smooth from Eddie’s meticulous shaving yesterday evening, and gifts the back of his knee a scratchy, wet kiss. Eddie shivers.

“Still green?” Richie’s breath is warm against him.

“Uh-huh.”

He feels Richie’s smile, feels him kiss him again, and a third time, and a forth, before he’s trailing kisses all the way down Eddie’s inner thigh, lavishing them over his tummy. Eddie’s breathing picks up but he isn’t worried about it being audible, slack-jawed as he watches his body be worshipped by Richie’s lips and tongue, Grumpy Bear tucked under his arm, free arm lax above his head.

“You taste so good, angel,” Richie tells him, dashes another lick against Eddie’s belly button.

“Daddy,” whines Eddie.

“Yes, little one?” soothes Richie.

Eddie can only pant.

Richie seems to understand. He straightens and rolls his palms up-and-down Eddie’s thighs. He tucks his thumbs under Eddie’s briefs, drags them down, over his knees, off over his ankles, Eddie maneuvering himself to help him, trembling. 

“Look at you,” breathes Richie. “Look how perfect you are.”

Eddie’s legs loll open, lets Richie have as long as he wants to take him in. He’s never felt so comfortable letting another see him like this before, unashamed and willing to present whatever way Richie wants to see. He can feel he’s hard against his tummy, but Richie doesn't touch, just looks him over.

“Time to get my Eddie dressed,” says Richie, audibly restrained.

He rolls Eddie on top of the bodysuit and helps his arms in the right holes. He clasps together the crotch before he follows the buttons all the way up Eddie’s front. He uses the edge of the bed to get back to his feet, his knees clicking as he does so, Richie sighing in mild discomfort.

Eddie giggles.

Richie cocks a sharp brow down at him. “Is Daddy being an old man funny to you?”

Another giggle escapes Eddie, light and airy.

“Cutie.” Richie smiles, indulgent as he strokes Eddie’s front a few more times. He takes both Eddie’s hands. “Stand up on the bed for me.”

Eddie does as he’s told, isn’t thinking about why Richie wants him to stand, just does it. He knows he could be talked into anything in this state, but he trusts Richie too much for that to be a possibility, probably only reached this state so easily _because_ it’s Richie.

Big hands slide over Eddie’s thighs, and before he understands what’s happening, he’s being hauled up onto Richie’s hip. Eddie slots his legs around Richie’s waist like they’ve done this a thousand times, and Richie supports his bottom, strokes a free hand across Eddie’s cheek. Eddie grins instinctively and sticks a thumb in his mouth.

“Sweet boy.” Richie pinches the cushy skin gently. “You want Grumpy Bear?”

“Yes, please,” Eddie slurs around his thumb.

“Good boy.” Richie fetches him from the bed, tucks the teddy under Eddie’s armpit and carries them both out the room.

The vibration of each step Richie takes is soothing to Eddie. He rests his chin on his shoulder and peers backwards, watches as he’s taken down the hall, down the stairs, into Richie’s living room. He’s set down onto the cool leather of Richie’s sofa, enjoys the kisses Richie gives his face once he’s done so.

The couch shifts as Richie sits down beside him, leans over to untie his shoes. Eddie draws in his knees as he waits, sucking his thumb. The temperature control in Richie’s apartment must be good, because he feels neither hot nor cold, just comfortable and buoyant… although maybe that’s just the subspace. Eddie can’t really think too much about anything right now.

Richie tosses his trainers aside, opens Netflix. He gathers Eddie up in his arms and hauls him over, gives another kiss, this one to Eddie’s ear. “What does my spaghetti wanna watch?”

He pets Eddie’s hair from where he’s perched on his lap and Eddie watches the options go by. He pops his thumb out his mouth when he sees something he recognises. “Bus.”

“Magic School Bus?”

“Please.”

“Good choice,” says Richie. He starts an episode, crosses large, bare feet on the coffee table and tilts Eddie into himself.

Eddie gets comfortable on his chest, bumping up and down steadily with every breath Richie takes. He feels Richie’s chin come to rest atop his head, his hand against Eddie’s stomach, and he relaxes because it’s a very, very nice place to be.

“Need anything, baby? A drink? A snack?”

Eddie shakes his head, sluggish.

“All comfy?”

Smiling at Richie’s fussy attention, Eddie bobs his head. “Comfy, Daddy,” he confirms.

“Good. Let Daddy know if you need anything.”

“Mhm.”

Eddie becomes engrossed in both the show and Richie’s running commentary alongside it, loves the way he’s close enough to feel his throat and chest buzz every time he speaks, close enough to take in his scent, his warmth, his protection.

By the end of the second episode, Richie’s finger begins drawing circles around Eddie’s bare knee. It sneaks up, and up, and up, and by the time the next intro has finished playing, all five, thick fingers are brushing against the bottom of Eddie’s bodysuit, along the sensitive skin there.

Eddie parts his legs for him, snuggles his face half under Richie’s chin, eyes staying on the screen.

The touch slides over the clothed area of his crotch and Eddie sighs, his heart beginning to thump, legs trembling.

“Colour?” requests Richie.

“Green,” says Eddie. Then, sweetly, “What you doing, Daddy?”

Richie exhales heavy through his nose, obviously affected. “Just keep watching Miss. Frizzle, sweetheart.”

Eddie smacks his lips, heart thrumming faster. “‘kay, Daddy,” he says.

Richie alternates between gentle, steady pats and sweeping circles that makes Eddie’s eyelashes flutter. He twitches against Richie’s palm responsively and Eddie forces himself to try and stay focused on the show, failing as he strains against the stretchy fabric, growing hard again from all the attention.

“Arnold and Wanda sure keep getting in trouble today, huh, Eds?” comments Richie, voice like gravel as he gives Eddie a particularly tight squeeze.

“Uh-huh.” Eddie reaches up and behind to anchor a hand in Richie’s hair, feels Richie’s stubble brush against him as he turns to kiss his wrist. 

Richie silently brings a few fingers to Eddie’s lips, just rests them there. Eddie takes them into his mouth. They taste different from his own, broader with tufts of soft, dark hair. He’s instantly in love and can’t believe he’s ever survived without them.

Richie sneaks a single digit beneath the crotch of Eddie’s romper and Eddie jolts as it brushes his cock. He completely checks out of the TV, watching Richie play with him instead.

“Feels funny,” slurs Eddie.

“Good funny or bad funny?”

“Good. Butterflies.”

Richie hums. “Daddy likes to hear that,” 

His finger traces along Eddie a second time and Eddie doesn’t hold back the sound it brings out of him.

“What a pretty noise,” praises Richie. “You want Daddy to help you make some more?”

“Mhm,” comes Eddie’s immediate agreement. “Please. Want special time.”

“Special time with Daddy?”

“Uh-huh.”

Just like Richie had snapped together Eddie’s romper, he pops it apart, taking his sweet time as he goes lower and lower, button-by-button. Eddie sucks Richie’s fingers, watches as his hand reaches where precome has soaked a little, darkened patch into the fabric. Richie pops apart the last little bit and Eddie is exposed again.

“So soft,” says Richie as he strokes Eddie’s chest and then finally, finally, _finally_ takes Eddie’s cock in his hand.

Eddie’s entire body jerks into it, moaning and slurping around the intrusion in his mouth.

“Look how pretty you are,” says Richie, and Eddie can feel he’s hard against his bottom. “My pretty boy.”

He begins to play with Eddie’s foreskin, Eddie so excited he’s dribbling all over Richie’s hand. Richie uses it as lubricant, manipulating him through his thumb and a few fingers, his hand so big that Eddie disappears into it when it wraps around him.

Richie’s hand leaves Eddie’s mouth empty to massage and pinch at one of Eddie’s nipples. “Does that feel nice?”

“Yes,” whines Eddie, wants to be Richie’s forever, tries to express as much with, “M’Daddy’s.”

Richie’s breathing goes funny, almost growling, and then he’s building up the pace. “Yeah, you are mine, aren’t you? Only Daddy gets to touch you like this, doesn’t he?”

“Uh-huh. More - please - Daddy - huh.” Eddie’s mouth stretches open at a particularly good movement, and Richie pushes three fingers back into it. Eddie sobs around them, his back and face feeling damp, body heaving.

Eddie’s mind is blank from everything but this moment, wheezing through his nose. He drops Grumpy Bear (who he hadn’t even registered he was still holding onto) palming for Richie’s arm, other hand falling limp from Richie’s hair.

“Ah - ah - hum - hngh - oh.” He’s gone with the wind, barely even coherent as he begins to cry, head lolling loosely against Richie’s shoulder.

“Who do you belong to?” Richie breaths in Eddie’s ear, touching him sloppier, faster. All Eddie can do is grip his wrist loosely.

“Daddy,” he babbles, drooling over Richie. “Daddy’s. I’m Daddy’s.”

“That’s right.” Richie squeezes Eddie. “Good boy.”

“I’m- m’good?”

“Very good. The best little boy in the whole world.”

“Wanna be - huh - please, please,” begs Eddie.

“You are. You are, sweetheart. Always so perfect for me. Does that feel good, little one? Do you like having special time with Daddy?”

“Yeah,” moans Eddie.

“My pretty Eddie,” coos Richie, breathing fast. “My sweet little boy. You gonna make a mess for me? You gonna make a mess for your Daddy?”

Eddie can only sob, head too heavy to nod as it all comes to a crescendo.

“Make me proud, then, sweetheart. Show Daddy who you belong to.”

Eddie’s eyes roll back and he’s consumed by the intense, rolling thrum of his orgasm. It explodes out of him so hard and so fast he numbly registers it splatter against his chin, wailing out.

“There’s a good boy,” is the last thing Eddie hears, Richie’s voice distant and muffled, before he promptly blacks out.


	3. Chapter 3

When Eddie comes to, he’s still on the sofa and there's five fingers carding aimlessly through his hair. Everything’s still fuzzy but he half sits up anyway, wants to understand what’s happening.

“Eddie?” he hears a voice say.

The hand moves from his hair to cup his cheek and Eddie tilts into it, disoriented. “Mmm, Da - ddy?”

“Hi, honey.” He recognises Richie’s voice better now. “You had me worried for a second there. How are you feeling?”

“Mmm,” manages Eddie. Everything is syrupy and warm. He shifts onto his bottom and slots a thumb into his mouth, finds his tongue a little dry.

His mind is a jumbled mess of insensate thoughts but he knows with an instinct that he’s safe. He can feel air against his bare skin, so he droops his head towards the sensation, finds his romper is still unbuttoned, his body tacky with come and dried spit. Big Eddie would be disgusted, would be hopping under a scalding shower with a loofah and a bottle of his lemon-scented body wash. Little Eddie just slumps into Richie’s side, detached from any real decision making.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Richie responds by sweeping circles into his back. 

Part of Eddie is tempted to fall back asleep, but he doesn’t, grounded by the hand against him.

“Let’s get you a little more comfy,” says Richie. “Daddy’s gonna go get something to clean up your dirty tummy with, okay?”

“‘kay,” agrees Eddie, struggling to focus.

He must blank out or something, because the next thing he knows Richie is wiping down his front with a wet wipe. The touch is kind and Eddie feels protected by it. Afterwards Richie begins maneuvering Eddie’s arms out from his sleeves, telling him what he’s doing as he does so. Eddie makes an attempt at helping but all of his limbs feel heavy.

Hands take his face. “Can you look at me, Eddie?”

Eddie tries but his eyes don’t cooperate, roll instead.

“Try again for me. You can do it. Be a good boy and look at Daddy.”

Eddie tries harder and finds Richie. He is smiling gently at him, so of course Eddie smiles back, and is rewarded with a kiss for his efforts.

“Good boy,” he’s praised. “Now, are you thirsty? Hungry? Toilet?”

Eddie needs a moment, but eventually answers, “Thirsty.”

“Alright. Apple juice?”

“...Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

Richie kisses his nose this time. “Good boy.”

The sofa shifts again and Eddie blinks blearily into space, still failing to gather coherence. At least now he can distantly hear what’s going on: the clunk of cupboards, the whoosh of a fridge, the trickle of his juice being poured. It stays background noise, however, goes in and out of Eddie like waves to the shore, but it’s there, and Eddie is slowly getting a better footing of his surroundings.

Richie reappears back in Eddie’s periphery. “Here, cutie.” 

He reaches out, being handed something plastic and smooth. Eddie realises once he has it in his grasp that it’s a sippy [cup](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0004/1032/0961/products/sweet-baby-sippy-blue-boy-bottles-bottle-cups-drinking-cup-ddlg-playground_277_600x.jpg?v=1579061270). He looks to Richie in awe.

“It’s a present.” Richie informs him. “Can’t have my little one drinking out of a big boy’s cup, can we?”

It’s such a shock to Eddie’s addled brain he doesn’t know how to react. There’s a muffled crying, and it’s only once Eddie’s back in the safety of Richie’s arms that he registers that it’s him making the fuss.

“Hey, hey, hey,” says Richie. “It’s okay, sweetie-pie. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you.”

Blubbering, Eddie fists away big blobs, hides away under Richie’s jawline.

“Oh, baby. Is it just all too much?” Richie takes a guess, grounding him with calmness and touch. “You’ve had a busy day today, huh?”

All wrapped up, Richie begins to rock them. Eddie grips on the handles of his cup so tight he leaves behind red impressions stark against each of his palms.

He wants to communicate that he's crying because no one has ever been as kind or as thoughtful to him as Richie has been these last hours. He wants to tell him that he’s crying because he’s simply overwhelmed, overwhelmed by the way Richie touches his face, remembers what his favourite foods are, ensures Eddie’s comfort, has been endlessly spoiling him with his attention, and now _gifts._

Sure he has Ma, but her affection always comes with a price, has to be consistently earned and kept, like some kind of twisted game where the rules change every day. From day one, Richie’s care for Eddie has always been this unconditional, unblemished thing.

“Thank-you,” is the best he can do. “Thank-you, Daddy.”

”For the sippy?” says Richie. “You’re very welcome, precious boy. Do you like it?”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie hiccups. “Me-sized.”

“Yeah, it is, huh?” Richie remains gentle. “I told you I was gonna look after you, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” Eddie can feel the cathartic flow of tears pick back up, although now they drip silently.

“Why don’t you have some juice?” Richie begins to thumb them away. “You must be thirsty.”

Realising he is actually quite parched, Eddie does as Richie suggests, putting the teat between his teeth. After several mouthfuls, he already feels a lot better, the sugar and water doing their respective jobs inside his body.

“Tasty?” inquires Richie, relaxing now Eddie has.

“Mhm,” hums Eddie, guzzling away.

They sit together quietly as Eddie finishes his bottle, snuffling. Richie returns to playing with his hair, twirling Eddie’s fringe around a finger. The day has yet to even end and Eddie already knows this is where he longs to belong forever, more at home in these arms than he’s ever been back in Derry, growing up inside that house

“All gone,” informs Eddie, shows Richie the empty bottle.

“Good job.” Richie takes the cup and sets it on the coffee table. He smooths up-and-down Eddie’s arms. “How does a bath before dinner sound?”

“Yeah. Yes, please.”

Eddie is re-hauled back onto Richie’s waist, realising he’s naked when Richie’s hand smooths it’s support under his backside. Eddie is tethered back to reality, but he doesn’t chase after his return to it just yet, wants to indulge in being Richie’s for just this little bit longer.

“Bubbles?” Richie asks from inside the bathroom.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” says Eddie brightly from Richie’s bed.

Richie laughs good-naturedly and Eddie grins at the open door, listening to the rush of the faucet.

Whilst they wait for the bath to fill, Eddie finds himself back in the center of Richie’s attention. 

He guides Eddie into being flat on his back, looms over him so that he can nibble at his neck and collar bone, stroke his ribcage and stomach, whisper how good Eddie’s being, how perfect he feels and looks, how lucky Richie is to have him. 

It turns Eddie to mush all over again. He wonders idly if it’s normal to go under this easily, or whether it’s just a power Richie possesses in general.

“Ah-hah, Daddy…” breathes Eddie as he has his nipple sucked at. 

He parts his legs wider but Richie doesn’t touch him like Eddie wants him to, just takes off his glasses and pins a weighty hand against the utmost part of his inner thigh. He goes back to lapping, lavishes Eddie’s areola until it’s pebbled and shiny, moves onto the next one. 

All Eddie can do is grip his broad shoulders, panting. “Feels funny,” he whines.

“Yeah? Tell Daddy about how it feels funny.”

Eddie wets his lips. “Shivery. Tingly.”

“That’s right. Only very good boys get to feel like this. Only Daddy gets to touch you on your special parts, doesn’t he?” Richie rubs Eddie with the heel of his hand to punctuate his point.

“Yeah,” Eddie moans, pushing into it.

“Because you belong to him, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Daddy’s.”

“Good boy knowing your place.” Richie gives his chest a few more pecks before he’s straightening back up.

The en suite is humid and sweet-smelling as Eddie’s carried into it, Richie making a show of testing the temperature before he settles Eddie into the tub. The water feels good against bare skin, Eddie enveloped by warmth. He relaxes, scooping up some bubbles and dropping them back down.

“Comfy?” Richie asks.

“Mhm.” Eddie flashes a smile, very comfortable.

He’s left alone very briefly, Richie returning with a pillow for his knees. Richie opens the cabinet under the sink, rummaging around. “I don’t have many bath toys yet,” he says, almost apologetic, “but I have this.”

“Duckie!” cheers Eddie as a yellow, rubber duck is added to the water. He’s warmed by Richie’s _yet_ , that little word giving Eddie the confirmation that Richie still plans on this being a long-term thing. He feels on cloud nine, like he’s just passed the most important test of his life.

Richie looks pleased, begins wetting Eddie’s hair with a plastic cup. He carefully shields Eddie’s eyes from the downpour, slicking back his curls. Eddie plays whilst Richie works, pushing the rubber duck down and watching it pop back up, entertained. He looks to Richie to see if he’s watching, which he is, although his eyes are on Eddie rather than the duck. 

Like every other time Eddie has looked at him, he smiles. “My little cutie patootie. You and duckie having fun?”

“Yeah. I’m helping- I’m helping him swim.”

“I can see you are. You’re such a kind boy helping, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I am?”

“Yeah, you are.”

“...Okay,” agrees Eddie shyly, scooping more bubbles, putting them on top of his knees. “Thank-you, Daddy.”

Richie’s lips go to his temple and he returns to pouring water through Eddie’s hair. Once it’s saturated, he moves to reach for the shampoo, but Eddie still feels riled up from earlier, so he grabs out to stop him.

Richie gives Eddie a kind, questioning look. “Yes, baby boy?”

Eddie takes Richie’s hand underwater, tucks it between his legs. “Special time,” he replies.

“You want Daddy to touch you?” asks Richie, automatically caressing Eddie’s scrotum with his thumb.

Lashes fluttering, Eddie nods, puts his thumb back in his mouth.

“Alright.” Richie cups him. “Because you’re such a good boy.”

“For my Daddy,” informs Eddie, childlike.

“Yeah, for your Daddy.” Richie smiles adoringly and Eddie’s toes curl.

Leaning over the edge of the tub, Richie comes in closer and gifts Eddie a long, sloppy kiss. Eddie sighs into it, letting his mouth fall open wide whenever Richie’s tongue demands it of him, secured in place by a hand that finds his neck, its hold on the firm side of gentle. Eddie isn’t afraid of it doing him any harm, his Adam’s apple bobbing against Richie’s fingers as he looks up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Pretty. You taste so sweet, Eds,” praises Richie. “Now open your mouth and show me your tongue.”

Eddie wants to be good so he does what he’s told, pink tongue jutting out over his bottom lip. Richie swoops back in to give it a broad lick and Eddie is fully erect again.

“That’s a good boy.” Richie grips his chin.

Eddie’s body sings at the praise, keeps his tongue out, keeps his eyes on Richie, waits for his next instruction.

“Are you listening?” Richie presses his thumb against the wet flesh.

“Uh-huh.” Eddie jerkily moves his head.

“I want you to stand up. And turn around. And put your hands on the wall. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

“And can I have a colour?”

“Green.”

Richie’s eyes crease with his smile. “Good boy.”

Taking the stance Richie has asked of him, Eddie slides his legs into the new positions Richie gently sees them to; a little further apart, his knees bent just a tad. He shudders with anticipation, and as his cheeks are pulled apart, he exhales sharply.

Nothing happens for what feels like forever, Eddie whining a frustrated, “Daddy...”

His thigh is swatted lightly. “Be patient.”

Eddie presses his lips together and complains through his nose. He’s throbbing, so he takes a hand off the wall to touch himself, immediately reprimanded,

“Both hands on the wall.”

The trembling palm goes back to its original position.

“Good boy listening,” praises Richie, and then licks him. 

He starts at Eddie’s taint, goes over his fluttering hole, and trails all the way up the crack of his ass. Eddie rests his face against his bicep and moans, is licked again, slower this time. Richie keeps him where he wants him with both hands, one on his thigh, the other taking a loose hold of Eddie’s cock.

This orgasm ends up being a gentler one. Richie doesn’t pick up his pace much further than what he starts with, just keeps up a hot, firm pressure with his tongue, rolls Eddie nice and steady through his fingers, over and over and over again until Eddie is dripping come all over the tiles.

Helped back down into the water from his shaky legs, Eddie is silent for the remainder of his bath, abuzz with satisfaction. He closes his eyes as Richie scratches shampoo into his scalp, watches as he foams up a flannel to drag over his body, gives himself to Richie to be taken care of.

It’s only when Eddie’s being patted dry on the edge of Richie’s bed that the last lingering sliver of his high seeps away, exhaustedly sated but very much back in control of himself. Richie must see the clarity in his eyes because he pauses the press of the fluffy towel.

“Welcome back, sweetheart,” greets Richie. He drapes the towel over Eddie’s shoulders for the moment.

“Hi,” croaks back Eddie.

“How you feeling?”

“Tired,” says Eddie. “But good.”

Richie nods, watching him carefully. “You still want me to help you get dressed?”

Eddie affirms that, yes, he would like that, so Richie gets him into his pyjamas and then fetches him a glass of water. They sit side-by-side against the headboard, Eddie with his head on Richie’s shoulder, Richie patting rhythms into his thigh.

“...That was a lot more intense than I was expecting,” says Eddie, lifting up his head to look at him.

“You’re telling me,” laughs Richie.

Feeling stung by his response, Eddie frets, “Was I too much?”

Eyes widen behind Richie’s glasses. “What? No, Eds, no, no, no. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Okay.” Eddie goes along with it, but then recalls, “Wait, you haven’t come yet, have you?”

“Is that a requirement?” Richie’s tone indicates it’s meant in jest, but all Eddie hears is the confirmation that he’s spent the last three hours being horribly, irredeemably selfish. There’s supposed to be a back-and-forth and instead Eddie just let Richie do all the work, so far gone he couldn’t even articulate properly.

His mom was right all along, he’s a horrible person who no one can ever love but her, and that’s only because she has to. Eddie clutches his pyjama collar and can feel tears prickling, puts a bare foot atop Richie’s in a subconscious reach for security. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” says Richie, putting his arms around Eddie. “Don’t drop on me, not when we’ve just had so much fun.”

“Not fun for you,” sniffs Eddie.

“Yeah, fun for me,” argues Richie. “What do you mean not fun for me?”

“You did everything.” Eddie detests the whininess of his own voice. He’s being such a crybaby. He’s never this sensitive back home, blames it on the intense littlespace he’s just been in.

“Eddie,” says Richie, looking a little dumbfounded but staying patient. “Eddie, sweetheart, that’s the point. I want to do everything for you, I like it.”

“But you said you couldn’t wait to fuck me.”

Different expressions rolodex over Richie’s face before it settles into a warm amusement. “That’s true,” he says, continues on a more serious note, “But I wanted today to be about you, though. Experiencing littlespace with a caregiver for the first time is a big deal. I wasn’t gonna take advantage of that, especially after you went under so hard.”

Eddie rests a hand on Richie’s knee, leans forward into his space. “I can blow you at least?”

“No, sweetheart, that’s okay.”

“But I feel bad.” Eddie sweeps a hand higher up Richie’s leg. “I owe you at least something, Rich, c’mon.”

“I said no, Eddie.” Richie turns stern, the sternest Eddie’s ever seen him. “If you only want to get me off because you feel guilty, then I don’t want you to get me off at all.”

Burned, Eddie draws his hand back, flooded with anxiety at the unexpected reaction. When Richie doesn’t say anything else, Eddie looks at his lap, feeling stupid and small (and not in the good way) cut off from his apology when Richie says,

“Whoever’s made you feel like that _fuck_ them. It doesn’t matter what it is, Eddie, don’t you ever do anything for anyone just because you feel like you owe it to them. Your sexuality belongs to you, nobody else. You do it because it feels good and _you_ want it.”

“Sorry.” Eddie wants to fix his mistake, can only hear Richie is angry and nothing else.

“You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“But you’re upset.”

“Not at you.”

Eddie peers up at Richie, unsure, but he is unreadable.

“Eddie,” Richie starts carefully. “Do you really wanna be here?”

“Yes,” scrambles Eddie. “More than anything - I’ll do anything you want - I can fix it - just tell me what to do.”

Richie looks alarmed. “Wow, wow, Eds. Pump the breaks. I was…” He’s briefly rendered speechless. “I was trying to ask if you were comfortable, not _coerce_ you. Were you not listening to me?”

Staying submissive, Eddie rolls together his lips. He searches for Richie’s angle, for the unsaid thing he’s wanting from him, for the correct response. When he can’t find it, Richie just looks sad, and Eddie can’t believe he’s fucking this up so badly when it was all just going so well.

“Let’s talk about this tomorrow,” Richie decides, expression schooling back into something more neutral, more what Eddie’s used to seeing. “It’s getting late, we should eat.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Eddie has to know.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I need some time to think about what I wanna say.”

“Are you mad?”

“No, sweetheart.” Richie places a hand on the back of his neck. “I’d never be mad at you over something like this.”

“So I’m still allowed to be your little?” Eddie knows he’s being pathetic but he _has to know._

“Of course, Eddie.” Richie looks sad again, rests a thumb against the small patch of skin behind Eddie’s ear. “I’m always gonna be your Daddy for as long as you want me to be, no matter what.”

“Promise?” Eddie hates that he keeps causing him upset but can’t stop chasing after the need for Richie’s affirmation.

“I promise.” Richie kisses the top of Eddie’s head. “You haven’t done anything bad. I just care about you a lot, spaghetti man.”

That manages to huff a smile out of Eddie. “That’s- I think that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever called me.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” says Richie, a playfulness about him once more. “A new Kaspbrak record.”

Levity returned, Eddie feels able to laugh, Richie once again lifting the weight from his shoulders. He shifts forward to hug and is hugged back. “You’re so silly, Daddy.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Eddie gets the luxury of waking up to bear hugs in Richie’s bed and a fried breakfast made for him in Richie’s kitchen. Bare toes brush the island as he gets to decide between being big or small. In the end he chooses big. Eats off the same earthenware plate as Richie. Has a coffee with a big dollop of cream. Talks with his lover about their options for the day, sat together out on Richie’s balcony.

“It’s up to you, man,” says Richie. Taps the end of his cigarette off into an ashtray. “I’m here all the time so it makes no difference to me.”

After a little further back-and-forth, Eddie admits he has always wanted to see the sea. 

So, Richie takes him to Venice Beach.

It’s gorgeous out there, even with all the people in the way of the view. There’s all walks of life: rollerskaters flying by on the promenade, half-naked couples sprawled out on towels in the sand, children splashing about noisily in the distance, surfers catching waves, friends chattering in haggles as they passed by.

Looking out across the coast, Eddie's feet swelter in socks and trainers, jealous of Richie’s toes’ freedom in their sandals. He’s very glad he made the decision to bring his shorts, although the jean-material is meant for a Maine summer, not a Californian one, cut off just above the knee. 

His thighs are damp and itchy, his most sensitive areas not happy at being trapped, either. Eddie adjusts himself by the waist to try and alleviate the feeling, but doesn’t do much good.

“Here.” Richie re-appears. Slides a pair of sunglasses from a nearby street vendor onto Eddie’s glossy, sun-blocked face.

“Thanks, Rich,” says Eddie, eyes glad to be shielded from the sun. “I don’t know how I forgot mine.”

He’s waved off. “It doesn’t matter. I like looking after you.”

Warmed, Eddie gives a sweet smile, indeed feeling very much looked after.

“You wanna go paddle in the sea?” Richie smiles back.

The shoreline glimmers with invitation. He does, but he also doesn’t. 

He has this weird thing about sand. Which he supposes is extra weird considering he’s never actually been to a beach before. He has more experience with sandboxes, or perhaps more aptly, he has experience _seeing_ them. He’d never been allowed to play in those wooden boxes as a child, remembers Sonia’s hand on his shoulder in the playground, telling him how they were a breeding ground for bacteria and parasitic worms. 

Four-year-old Eddie hadn’t understood what a breeding ground was at the time, but he had long since been brainwashed into a palpable fear of all things germ-related, so he’d listened and never set foot inside one for the entirety of his childhood.

Maybe if Eddie was little. If he was little he’s sure he’d have no problem taking Richie’s dependable hand, letting himself be guided barefoot through the golden sandhills so he could play in the waves. But Eddie isn’t small right now. And they’re in public. So it’s going to stay that way.

“No, thanks,” says Eddie. “I just wanted to see it.”

“...Then how about a sandcastle?” Richie’s palm settles discreetly against the small of Eddie’s back.

Like the padding, it’s a nice idea, but Eddie remains bound by the freakish anxieties he hasn’t explained to Richie yet. Doesn’t know how to. Doesn’t even know where to begin.

“Maybe next time,” Eddie settles on.

“Sure, Eds.” Richie doesn’t push.

They end up at a boardwalk cafe situated on a pier. They sit outside under a huge parasol, the ocean breeze feeling nice on Eddie’s face. He orders a smoothie whilst Richie gets himself an espresso. Sets his phone, keys and marlboros onto their table. He taps out a cigarette and unclasps his lighter to singe the end.

“My dad used to smoke,” comments Eddie.

“Yeah?” Richie sighs out a cloud. “He quit?”

“No. He got lung cancer and died.”

Richie chokes on ash. “Gee, dude!” he coughs and readjusts his glasses. “You gotta warn a guy before you drop a bombshell like that!”

“I was just saying,” defends Eddie. He crosses his legs, a muted smile despite the subject. “It was a long time ago. I guess I forget it’s a touchy subject for most people.”

“It was a little out of left field,” Richie agrees warmly, as endlessly understanding of Eddie’s idiosyncrasies as usual.

“I know. I guess I’m just kind of… not socialised enough to be any good at small talk,” says Eddie.

Yet again Richie surprises him, effortlessly catches what Eddie throws at him and transforms it into something fun. “Not socialised enough? What, like a cat?”

Eddie snorts. “You know what I mean, jackass.”

“My pretty kitty needs some socialisation,” teases Richie. Puckers another leisurely drag.

“Oh my God.” Eddie feigns annoyance. They both grin at one another.

*

He’s given the offer of having lunch downtown, but Eddie declines. He wants more alone time with Richie. The kind they can’t have if they’re eating out together at a restaurant. He’d much prefer his sippy cup and a plate of dino nuggets. His romper. Richie nearby, playing with his hair and pressing playful raspberries to his cheeks.

Overall, he’s feeling pretty content as he watches Richie drive them.

That is until Richie drops the bombshell, “When we get back I wanna talk about what happened yesterday.”

He keeps chatting but Eddie loses the thread of their conversation, anxiety settling gloopy and uncomfortable inside him like treacle.

If Richie can sense it, he doesn’t point it out.

Back at the apartment, Eddie has a chair at the dining table pulled out for him just before Richie is disappearing into his office. Mentally preparing himself for the scolding that’s about to take place, Eddie is puzzled by the notepad set in front of him. 

Richie drags his chair sideways so that he's crowded into Eddie’s space. 

“What you looking so worried about, baby boy?” he asks, one of his hands settling on the back of Eddie’s chair.

“I don’t know,” Eddie answers honestly. Doesn’t know why he keeps thinking of his mother. Rather not be whilst he’s spending this borrowed, precious time with Richie. Pushes the intrusive thought away.

“Well, this is nothing to be worried about.” Richie takes Eddie’s hand, kisses each individual finger before he puts a pen into it. 

It’s metal. Cool against Eddie’s sweaty palm.

“I know we’ve spoken a lot about what we were gonna do this weekend,” begins Richie. “But I wanna talk about some stuff before we do any more scenes. We should have really done this yesterday, but I think we both got a little carried away improvising.”

“I liked it,” Eddie jumps to reassure him.

“Me too,” agrees Richie, the back of his thumb brushing between Eddie’s shoulder blades. “And I had felt pretty confident with us being able to play like that safely, that you’d use your traffic lights if you needed to, but yesterday, when you started talking about owing me something, it made me anxious.”

What? He’d made Richie _anxious_? Eddie was momentarily floored, almost whiplashed. “Fuck, Richie,” he gets out. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“That’s alright,” says Richie. “This isn’t about making you feel bad, it’s about us being honest with each other. Because that’s the most important part of BDSM. Communication and trust, you know?”

“I trust you,” says Eddie.

“Thank-you, sweetheart,” replies Richie. “That makes me very happy, and I wanna trust you, too, but I'm struggling a little right now.”

Confused and a bit hurt, Eddie’s stomach plummets.

“And the reason I’m struggling is because I’m worried that you’re consenting to things for the wrong reasons.”

“The wrong reasons?” Eddie’s mouth has gone dry.

“Yeah.” Richie touches his glasses. “Like out of guilt or obligation. Or tolerating something because you think it’ll please me, but in reality it’s making you uncomfortable.”

Eddie is silent, still clutching the pen he’s been given.

“Do you get where I’m coming from, man? It would kill me if I ever hurt you, Eddie. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“You’d never hurt me,” Eddie argues because it’s so painfully obvious to him Richie wouldn’t. “And I never felt guilty, yesterday I just—I just wanted to make you feel good, too. I’d tell you if I didn’t like something.”

“You said that you felt bad,” reminded Richie. “And then you said that you owed me a blowjob, and when I tried to ask you if you really wanted to be here with me, you told me you would do anything I asked if it meant you could stay.”

Eddie sucks in his lip, feeling boxed into a corner by Richie’s confrontation.

“The fact that you’re not understanding why I’m so worried,” continues Richie, “is really, really concerning me, sweetheart. I need to be able to trust you to tap out when you need to. For you to tell me when I’m doing something you don’t like, or if things get too intense and you need to take a break.”

There’s a bout of silence before Eddie finally says, “It’s only because it’s you.”

“...What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s only because it’s you,” repeats Eddie, a little frustrated. “It’s because it’s you I know you’d never make me do anything I don’t want to. I just panicked, okay? Littlespace makes everything intense and I was feeling insecure. I’ve never felt as safe with anyone as I do with you. I wouldn’t have flown out here otherwise.”

“But, Eddie-”

“No, listen to me. Please. When I asked you to tell me what I was supposed to do, I’m- I- I asked you because you’re my dom. I was vulnerable and I knew you’d know what’s best and I know you’d never abuse that. The fact that you don’t-” Eddie is stumbling all over the place but perseveres. “The fact _you_ don’t get that is- is- is the concerning thing, Richie.”

Richie straightens slightly.

“I know I was pretty out of it yesterday, but it’s kind of—no, it _is_ _—_ it’s insulting you’re implying I wouldn’t use my safeword if I needed to.”

Chewing his bottom lip, Richie seems to consider.

Eddie can only wait, heart thumping at his own boldness.

“You’re right,” agrees Richie. “You’re right, Eds. I’m sorry.”

The whole exchange easier than expected, Eddie lets out a shaky exhale. He has to look away. He’s not used to being apologised to. This isn’t the way it usually goes when Eddie dares to speak up, so nervous his legs feel like jelly.

“I just… It’s just really important to me that you’re comfortable.” 

“I _am_ comfortable.” Eddie’s head snaps back up. He wants to go back in time to yesterday afternoon, when Richie’s face had been carefree and his touches had been plentiful. “Can’t we just pretend like it never happened? We only have this weekend and I came all the way out here. Please, Rich?”

Richie looks like he wants to argue, an inward battle raging just behind his gaze as he drags fingers through thinning curls. Eddie pleads with his eyes. Reaches out for the broad, hairy hand upon the table. Richie, seemingly having made his decision, turns it over and laces their fingers.

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. “But only after we’ve done this.”

“Done what?”

Richie taps the forgotten notepad three times. “Hard limits. Soft limits. What you wanted to do this weekend.”

Eddie gives a withered look. “Seriously? Richie, you know all this already-”

“I do, but I want you to rewrite it.”

“Why?” whines Eddie.

“Because I’m your dom and I’m telling you to.”

Eddie juts his chin and Richie meets his stubborn gaze forcefully. Not an unfriendly or threatening force, however, rather one of a steady kind of pressure. _I know best_ , it says. _I’m in charge._

“You can always use your safeword,” Richie reminds. Gives him an out.

Eddie remains silent.

“In that case,” says Richie. “Be a good boy and do as you’re told.”

Tummy tingles soothe Eddie’s frustration as he draws three columns across the page, begins to fill them in.

*

Eddie enjoys littlespace for the better part of the afternoon; feeling like the center of Richie’s world for the entirety of it.

He’s dressed down and carried about. Provided with a variety of finger foods to snack on for his lunch, which he eats at Richie’s coffee table, crossed legged on the floor. Richie puts on _The Care Bears Family_ and Eddie watches the reruns quietly, Grumpy Bear nearby, munching on chicken nuggets dipped in lashings of ketchup. A meal he would have never been given as a child.

Content and drifting under, Eddie watches the next episode with his pacifier between his teeth (expertly washed and dried by Richie earlier) gently bouncing his knee. He plays with the soft material of Richie’s rug, growing a little restless. Richie has been pretty quiet; no running commentary of yesterday, no touchiness.

With a glance over his shoulder, Eddie anticipates him to be distracted. Busy on his phone or something. Instead he discovers he’s being watched. Richie is unabashed about being caught, just smiles.

Eddie feels a little flurry in his stomach. He shifts with his knees until he reaches him. Rests his chin atop Richie’s hairy knees.

“Hi there, sugarplum,” he’s greeted warmly.

Eddie pulls out his dummy. “Hi, Daddy.”

Richie’s responding gaze is so doting, so tender and soft-centred, it’s hard for Eddie to feel anything but adored. “You all done with your lunch?” he says. “Full tummy?”

“Mhm.” Eddie fiddles with Richie’s leg hair.

“Good. Gonna watch more carebears?”

“No.”

“No?”

Eddie shakes his head a second time. His face is stroked and Eddie leans into the fingers that caress him.

“What you wanna do instead?”

Breathing in-and-out, Eddie considers, steeped in the honey of being little. They’d decided on the scene they were going to do later, but right now Eddie just wants to spend some platonic time with his Daddy. He takes the hand from his cheek and plays around with it. Opens and closes Richie’s fingers. Richie, of course, allows him to do as he wishes.

“Play,” decides Eddie.

“Sure, baby. What do you wanna play?” asks Richie.

“Shopping,” says Eddie. “Grocery store.”

Richie pops up a brow. He nods through brief problem-solving to grant his wish. He guides his hand out of Eddie’s meddling to boop his nose. “Let Daddy see what he can do,” he says, easing up.

Staying where he is on the floor, Eddie pushes the teat of his pacifier back between his lips. “M’kay.”

A little rummaging later, Eddie has his own little make-pretend shop put together. He’s given a few packets of premade mac and cheese, tinned cans, condiments, dried pasta ( _“Spaghetti for my Spagheddie”)_ cereal boxes and an apple. Richie gets out his phone, too, sets it down in front of Eddie with the calculator function open. A little pile of money.

“There. A shop,” says Richie.

Re-removing his dummy, Eddie carefully sets it down. “Need sign,” he tells Richie matter-of-factly. “An’ apron.”

“Need a sign and an apron, what?”

Eddie bats his lashes. “ _Please_.”

Requests fulfilled, Eddie gets a striped pinny tied around his waist and _Eddie’s Shop_ scrawled across a piece of printer paper. Eddie has never seen Richie’s handwriting before, watching the marker in his dependable grip squeal block, uneven capital letters. It’s perfect.

“Thank-you, Daddy.” Eddie is cutesy. Kisses Richie’s stubbly cheek.

Richie seems gratified. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Eddie plonks himself back down.

“Now play,” he demands. “Play, Daddy. Play.”

“I’m coming, baby. One sec,” soothes Richie. “Let Daddy get something to sit on first.”

Richie tosses a pillow onto the floor and gets seated, grimacing a little as he does so. Once he’s down, he flashes Eddie a smile, which Eddie returns, feeling like the luckiest submissive in the whole wide world.

Richie knocks on the table and makes a show of pretending to open a door.

“Welcome!” cheers Eddie. He straightens a jar of pesto sauce.

“Good afternoon,” returns Richie. He pauses. “Wowie. No one told me this shop had such a pretty cashier—otherwise I would have come much sooner.”

Eddie giggles.

“How are you today, handsome?”

“Good.” Eddie twirls his fringe. “How are you, sir?”

“Better now you’re here.” Richie flashes one of his wonky winks.

Eddie is delighted. “Can I help, sir?”

Richie taps his lips with a thorough hum. “Yes. I’m looking for some soup. Chicken noodle.”

After a brief search, Eddie finds it. He picks it up to offer it to Richie, which he takes, their fingers brushing familiarly.

“Thanks. How much, Mr. Cashier?”

“Four,” answers Eddie. Holds up the amount with his fingers.

“Four?!” exclaims Richie. “Seems pretty damn expensive in here to me…”

Eddie giggles. “Four, Daddy. It’s four.”

“Alright, alright.” Richie waves an overdramatic hand before he begins to count out the dollar bills. “Four it is. Jeez, you sure drive a hard bargain, kiddo.”

Grinning from ear-to-ear, Eddie takes what’s handed to him. Pointlessly taps a few numbers into Richie’s iphone. He looks up at Richie from beneath his eyelashes. “An’ a kiss.”

“ _And_ a kiss?”

Eddie purses his lips expectantly, is indulged by Richie without the need for another word.

“There,” says Richie. “Four dollars and a kiss. Now can I take my soup home?”

“Yeah,” answers Eddie. “Thank-you for buying.”

“No, thank _you.”_ Richie gestures with his can. “I’ll see ya around, sweetcheeks.”

Eddie waves him goodbye, neatening the dollars he’s been given into a little pile.

Sated by the positive interaction of Richie’s humouring, Eddie expects the game to have come to a close on Richie’s side. Expects that he’s going to get up and go sit back on the sofa, leave Eddie and his imagination to it. Then Richie re-knocks the table.

“ _Bonjour_?” he begins, giving his all into an impressively accurate accent Eddie had had no idea he was even capable of. “ _Iz’ zis’ zee’ gro-zuh-ry store, monsieur?”_

“Yes.” Eddie melts. Adores Richie’s silliness, how special he feels to finally experience it firsthand, how little he feels.

 _“Alors… in zhat’ case…_ ”

The play-pretend continues. Eddie keeps waiting for the last customer, but they just keep coming: an irishman, an italian gangster, 1950s southern belle, Steve Irwin-inspired australian, fumbling british man, raspy, middle-aged waitress, New York cab driver, Canadian ice fisher—they go on and on, seemingly endless, effortlessly pulled out of thin air.

In the end it’s _Eddie_ who puts an end to the game, Richie spoiling him with as much of his attention as he wants without even a hint of weariness or apathy. Everything is left out on the table to be cleared up later, and Eddie doesn’t even think about it. Doesn’t have to worry about things being untidy or out of place.

“It can wait,” promises Richie as he resettles on the couch.

Eddie nods. Daddy says it’s okay so it’s okay.

Wanting tactile comfort, Eddie spends the next hour knelt at Richie’s feet, between his legs. It’s a quiet time. Eddie’s gaze goes half-lidded as his hair is brushed back-and-forth, his face petted, the shell of his ear stroked by Richie’s thumb. He buries himself against his clothed crotch, comforted by Richie’s acceptance of his submission. 

Everything blurs.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Richie eventually says. 

Eddie blinks and notices the room is bathed in orange. He hadn’t realised just how far gone he’d been, but it doesn’t startle him the same way it does when his panic attacks cause him to lose time.

“Upstairs?” mumbles Eddie, groggy.

“Yeah. Upstairs. To Daddy’s room.”

Eddie lights up. “For special time?”

“Yup. But first,” Richie tucks stray hairs behind both Eddie’s ears, “tell me our traffic lights.”

“Green go, yellow slow, red stop.” Eddie cannot get the words out fast enough.

“Good boy.” Richie opens up his arms to him. “Come here.”

Secured into Richie’s hold, Eddie buzzes with anticipation of what’s to come, letting himself be carried all the way back upstairs.


End file.
